


A Hiss To Build a Dream On

by xanthippe74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Puns, Constable Harry Potter, Getting Together, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Parseltongue, Pining Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Reptile Breeder Draco Malfoy, Secondary Theme: Pet Fair, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-09-01 19:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/pseuds/xanthippe74
Summary: Harry has a pash on a certain Slytherin. Draco has a snake that’s refusing to eat. When Draco asks him to use his Parseltongue skills to help, Harry sees the opportunity he’s been waiting for. There’s just one small problem: Harry can’t bring himself to tell Draco that he isn’t a Parselmouth anymore.





	A Hiss To Build a Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[70](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> To the prompter: when I saw your prompt, it sparked an idea right away and I had so much fun running with it. Maybe too much fun. When you asked for humour, you meant terrible puns and Harry getting himself into a ridiculous situation… right?
> 
> Many thanks to [phdmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama), who was so very kind and encouraging when I kept slipping (unsolicited) bits of this story to her via Tumblr messages. She generously offered to beta read it for me and her advice was invaluable. This little story owes its finishing touches and proper em-dashes to her.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thanks to the mods for their hard work putting on this fest!

**One**

“I saw Draco today in Diagon,” Harry said, avoiding his friends’ eyes as he sliced vegetables for the salad. “I think he went to Flourish and Blotts because I saw him carrying some books. But they weren’t in a bag, so maybe he didn’t buy them just then?”

“Mate, that is _ not _ what I meant when I asked you about your day,” Ron moaned. “I think I’d rather hear about your patrol logs. Bloody hell, I’d rather hear about your bowel movements. Anything besides you mooning over the ferret, I beg you.” He ended his plea by dropping the wooden spoon he was holding in order to clasp his hands in front of his chest. “Shit,” he swore, then found some tongs to rescue the spoon from his bolognese. “I can’t work under these conditions.”

“For heaven’s sake, Ronald, let him talk about whatever he wants to,” Hermione said as she cleared her law textbooks and notes off the kitchen table. Hermione still preferred to spread her work across a large surface, just as she had in the Hogwarts library.

Harry smiled when he thought about how far his friends had come since they moved into a flat not much bigger than the parlour at Grimmauld Place. More than once, Harry had beaten a hasty retreat through the Floo after arriving to find Hermione threatening to Vanish Ron’s dirty laundry, or Ron ranting about finding Hermione’s leaking quills and scraps of parchment on the kitchen worktop.

“Thank you, Hermione. And I am not mooning over him, _ Ronald_. I’m just curious about him. You know, what he’s up to these days.”

Harry slid the diced cucumbers and cherry tomatoes into the wooden salad bowl. His face felt as hot as Ron’s sauce. It was very unfair that having a pash on someone at the age of 22 was as humiliating as when he was 14.

“You know what he’s up to, Harry!” Hermione called from the sitting room. He heard her drop her stack of books onto the coffee table with a bang to express her exasperation. “He makes potions that the apothecaries and Saint Mungo’s don’t stock. When a customer or patient needs a rare potion, they get him to brew it on demand,” she said, ruffling Harry’s hair as she sat back down at the table. “It must be interesting work, though not very steady. I wonder if he sets his prices by the cost of the ingredients or the brewing time? Both, probably.”

“Yes, you know he’s brews for a living,” Ron said, interrupting Hermione before she could go off on a tangent. “You know he has a flat in Practic Alley because you followed him home last year and he turned around and caught you at it. Trying to hide behind a bin, no less! Future Head of Magical Law Enforcement right here,” he said to Hermione, poking Harry in the shoulder.

“And you know he likes to get ice cream on Saturday afternoons in the summer, usually toffee crunch, but sometimes double chocolate walnut _if he’s_ _had a hard week_,” Hermione continued, pinning Harry with her _very knowing look _that never failed to make him squirm. “And he has five different waistcoats that he rotates through. And he gets his hair cut every six weeks exactly at the barbershop by Olivander’s. Really, Harry, other than his shoe size and his preferred type of bread, I’m not sure how much more there is for you to find out from a distance.” Hermione leaned back as Ron placed a steaming plate of spag bol in front of her.

“Well, I know too much about him as it is,” Ron declared. He carried plates for Harry and himself to the table and collapsed into his seat. “If I find out any more I’m going to have to be Obliviated for decency’s sake. Why not just owl him and ask him to meet you for coffee? Or does he only drink tea? No! Don’t answer that!” he insisted as Harry opened his mouth to tell him.

Only tea. Earl Grey, preferably, with milk and no sugar. Harry cringed as he remembered waiting in the queue at the coffee shop and accidentally stepping on the robes of the witch in front of him in his eagerness to overhear Draco’s order. Christ, he was truly pathetic.

“He would never agree to meet me anywhere,” Harry sighed, listlessly twirling his fork in his spaghetti. “He looks at me like I’m going to arrest him if I as much as say hello to him. The last three times I tried, he just said, ‘Still not up to anything, Potter,’ and walked away. I was even smiling in a very friendly and non-threatening way!”

He demonstrated for them, but apparently the effect was not the one he intended because Hermione choked on her wine and Ron told him that he looked like a cornered dog baring its teeth.

“Look, mate,” Ron said, “you know we want you to be happy, but there are other fish in the barrel, as the old saying goes.” Hermione snorted. “Maybe it’s time to find someone who’s more interested. And less Malfoyish. Malfoy-y. Whatever.”

“I think it’s fine if he wants to get to know Draco better,” Hermione said, reaching across the table to pat Harry’s hand. “Draco’s worked hard to make amends these past few years. Even _ you _ were impressed by the apologies he wrote to us and the volunteer work he did at Hogwarts our last year, Ron.”

“Grudgingly impressed,” Ron admitted. “You couldn’t pay me to tutor first-year students, the cheeky little blighters.”

“Harry just has to find a better way than spying on him or ambushing him in shops.” Hermione held up her hands when Harry started to object. “Just think about other ways you can break the ice without scaring him off, okay?”

“For the love of Merlin, can we please stop talking about Draco bloody Malfoy now and enjoy this fine meal? I’m going to ask Robards to send me on a month-long stakeout if I have to listen to any more,” Ron grumbled around a mouthful of salad.

“Yes, please,” Harry implored. He was more than ready to turn the conversation in another direction.

“All right then, gentlemen, raise your glasses,” Hermione said briskly, lifting her wine and pausing while Ron and Harry did the same.

“If at first you don’t succeed, spy, spy again,” she said, clinking her glass against Harry’s with a wink. “As the old saying goes.”

Harry laughed. A Friday night with his friends never failed to lift his spirits. The problem of Draco could wait until tomorrow, he decided, and he set to work on his spag bol with gusto.

**Two**

He was dreaming. _ I must be dreaming_, Harry thought as he stared at the letter in his hands. 

> _ Potter, _
> 
> _ I would like to request your assistance with a very urgent matter. If you are amenable, please come to my flat at 45 Practic Alley, third floor, tomorrow evening at eight o’clock. I expect the matter can be resolved very quickly and with no inconvenience to you. Please reply to confirm your availability. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ D. L. Malfoy, _
> 
> _ Potions Master, First Class _

The letter had arrived by owl just as Harry had finished three day’s worth of washing up and was about to head upstairs to his bedroom. Instead of a nice cuppa and the latest Quibbler to end his day, he was now standing in his kitchen like a Confunded troll while his tea got cold.

_ A very urgent matter _ could mean many things. Harry pulled himself together and found a chair and his mug to consider the possibilities.

If Draco were in danger, he wouldn’t have asked Harry to wait a full day before coming to his aid. Still, Harry indulged in a brief fantasy that involved him rescuing Draco from a ruthless band of desperate… somethings. And being rewarded with Draco’s admiration and gratitude. Very _ affectionate _ gratitude.

Then the memory of Draco’s cold glare struck the shimmery bubble of Harry’s dream like a pin. Not bloody likely, Harry was forced to conclude.

Harry tried to think of other ways he, in particular, could be of assistance to Draco, but he struggled to come up with any useful skills besides Reckless Disregard for Personal Safety (_working on it, Kingsley_) and Cooking a Decent Breakfast Fry-up (_fuck you, Aunt Petunia_).

There was only one thing to do in a situation like this: call Hermione.

Harry finished his tea in three big swallows and crouched down in front of the fireplace.

Hermione answered the Floo with a smudge of ink on her chin and a wooden skewer holding her curls atop her head in a lopsided bun.

“Draco sent me an owl,” Harry said, knowing it was best to get to the point quickly when he was dragging Hermione away from her studying.

“What? Harry, I’m so proud of you! What did he say, are you going to meet somewhere?”

“No, Hermione, _ he _ owled _ me_. Out of the blue, asking for help with something. He asked me to come over to his flat tomorrow night,” Harry explained.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Hermione said, tilting her head slightly. “I wonder what he wants. You are certain it’s from him, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, big eagle owl, posh handwriting, his address in the letter. Definitely him.”

“Maybe he finally got it through his thick, blond head that you want to get in his pants,” Ron called from somewhere out of sight. “Ugh, I gave myself mental images. Hermione, be a love and kill me the next time I bring up Malfoy’s pants.” Hermione just rolled her eyes and shooed Ron away from the Floo.

“It wasn’t that kind of letter,” Harry lamented. “Just a few lines, very business-like. Do you think I should go?”

“Why not?” Hermione shrugged. “I doubt he has anything nefarious planned. It’s certainly the opportunity to chat him up that you’ve been hoping for.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do it,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “Hey, you know how Luna talks about visualizing the things you want in order to make them happen? Do you think I manifested a sort-of-date with Draco?”

“I think it’s just a coincidence, Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head and causing her bun to slip closer to her left ear. “But maybe all your attempts to talk to him convinced him that you’d be willing to help. Okay, I need to get back to my torts revision now, but firecall me as soon as you get home tomorrow night.”

“Hermione has a great pair of torts!” Ron shouted exuberantly. Harry guessed he was in the kitchen from the direction of Hermione’s glare.

“I’m going to pour all your beer in the toilet if you don’t stop making that pun! Goodnight Harry, talk to you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, ‘Mione,” Harry chuckled. He closed the Floo connection and found a quill to reply to Draco’s letter.

The next twenty-four hours were going to be torture.

**Three**

Harry stood in front of the door of Draco’s flat taking deep breaths and watching the numbers of his _ Tempus _ charm change to eight o’clock. He smoothed down his button-down shirt, patting his lower back to make sure it was still tucked neatly into his jeans, and rapped on the door. Draco opened the door so abruptly that Harry was startled into taking a step back. He was wearing the midnight blue waistcoat with the silver buttons shaped like tiny cauldrons, Harry noticed.

“There you are,” Draco said, as if Harry had kept him waiting. “Thank you for coming. Step this way.”

Harry followed him past a darkened sitting room crammed with furniture, then down a short hallway to a closed door. He still hadn’t managed to say a word and Draco seemed uninterested in exchanging pleasantries.

When Harry stepped into the room and looked around, he was surprised to find it filled with glass aquarium tanks and shallow wooden boxes neatly arranged on tables around the perimeter of the room. There were shelves next to the window with labels that Harry couldn’t read because the only light came from several small lamps above the tanks.

“I breed reptiles,” Draco said shortly. He gestured to the enclosures one by one. “Box turtles, bearded dragons, leopard geckos, blue-tongued skinks.”

“You breed reptiles for potions ingredients?” Harry said, aghast.

“No, for pets! I sell them to the Magical Menagerie. For pity’s sake, Potter, you really think the worst of me, don’t you?” Draco scowled and turned away from Harry to peek into one of the larger tanks.

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry said desperately. “I just thought you brewed potions. I mean, from the way you signed your letter.”

“This is a side venture,” Draco explained, reaching for a long pole with a large hook on the end that was leaning against the wall. “My brewing work is… irregular, so I needed something to supplement my income. Non-magical pets have become quite popular with wizarding children, and reptiles are inexpensive to care for after the initial outlay for the equipment.”

“Oh, okay. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about turtles or lizards, so I’m not sure how I can help you.” Harry watched as Draco slowly lowered the hooked end of the pole into the glass enclosure. Harry leaned to the side to try to see what was in the tank, but he only had to wait a few moments before Draco turned around with a large snake wrapped around the pole.

“Not with the turtles or lizards, with this.” Draco shifted the pole to catch the snake as it slithered off the end of the hook. “She’s a black-headed python, a species from Australia, non-venomous of course. I’m hoping to obtain a male soon so that I can breed them. They’re less common than other kinds of pythons that are kept as pets, and therefore bring a higher price.”

Harry stepped closer to look at the snake. True to her name, her head was entirely black, but the rest of her body was a beautiful pattern of light and dark tan stripes. She was about five feet long and seemed accustomed to being handled.

“So what’s the problem?” Harry asked.

“She won’t eat,” Draco said. “Adult pythons only need to eat every ten to fourteen days, but it’s been almost three weeks and I’m concerned that something is wrong with her. I’ve reread all the information I have about snake husbandry and I still can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. She has a heat pad under her hide box, an unheated hide at the other end of the enclosure, clean aspen bedding. The temperatures are perfect and she’s not due to shed for several weeks. There are no visible signs of illness.” He let out an exasperated huff. “I was hoping you could help me figure it out.”

“Um, how?” Harry asked. He hated to ask, but he had the same uncomfortable feeling of being two steps behind as he did when Hermione was trying to explain something to him.

“With Parseltongue!” Draco snapped, looking as if he was restraining himself from adding _ you pillock_. “Could you just ask her why she won’t eat? It will help me out tremendously and then you can be on your way.” He struggled with the hook again as the snake seemed determined to stay in motion. He flinched when the snake’s head came close to his face while he was looping her around the pole again.

“Oh! Yes, I see,” Harry stammered.

_ Shit_. He didn’t want to have to leave before he could even have a proper conversation with Draco. Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and desperately tried to think of a way to help Draco that didn’t require an ability that he no longer possessed. He had never once, until today, wished that he was still a Parselmouth. It was something that he would always associate with Nagini.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry.

“If you don’t want to help me, feel free to show yourself out. I didn’t think such a small favour would be too much to ask of you, but I see that I was mistaken.” He lifted the pole as if he were about to return the snake to her enclosure.

“No, wait! It’s not that. I’m just… a bit rusty,” Harry said hastily. “Just give me a moment.”

_ Stall! No, tell him the truth! You can’t leave yet! _Harry’s brain shouted conflicting orders and he could feel himself beginning to sweat. The room was too warm and Draco was looking at him expectantly.

“Can I hold her? Is she used to that?” Harry asked, hoping to buy himself some time.

“Yes, you may. Her previous owner handled her regularly. Just make sure she can rest enough of her body on you that she doesn’t feel like she’s going to fall.” Draco extended the pole towards Harry, who held out his arms toward the slithering snake. Harry let her gradually move onto his arms and shoulders, surprised by her weight and the feel of her scales through his shirt.

“I prefer the hook,” Draco continued as he stepped back. He watched Harry catch the snake with his forearm as she slid down from his shoulder. “She’s my first snake and I must admit I have some rather negative associations with them,” he added with a grimace.

“That’s understandable,” Harry murmured, keeping his eye on the python in his arms. “She’s quite lovely, though, and seems to like being held. Maybe she misses that.”

“Maybe you could just _ ask her_,” Draco suggested. “I would really like to get to the bottom of this so that I can breed her. One clutch of hatchlings will be a significant boost to my finances. I don’t enjoy talking about this, Potter, but the war reparations that my family paid left us with almost nothing. It’s enough to provide for my mother in her small house in France. I, however, depend on my own work to support myself. I’m not asking for your sympathy, of course, but I’m sure you can understand the urgency of the situation.”

While Draco was making this speech, Harry was casting his eyes around the room in the hope that something would inspire a solution to his dilemma. He spotted a small frame that appeared to hold an embroidered picture, hung above the enclosures to Harry’s left. He squinted at it in the dim light.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, wrapping the snake across his shoulders again and moving closer.

“My mother makes them for me,” Draco explained with annoyance. “She wants to be supportive of my endeavors. Or maybe she ran out of ideas for her cross stitch projects, I’m not sure.”

Harry was finally close enough to make out the picture, and he let out a surprised bark of laughter. It was a turtle, wearing a colourful party hat that looked like the ones in Christmas crackers, under an arch of balloons. Underneath, in alternating colours for each letter, were the words, “Shell-ebration Time!”

Harry was trying not to laugh again. Between the ridiculous pun and the stress of the situation, he was afraid that he would descend into hysterical giggling.

“So?” Draco asked impatiently. “Will you ask her?”

Harry felt his stomach sink. It was time to make a decision. He looked down at the snake’s shiny head and saw her beady eyes fixed on him.

It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

Harry tried to remember what it sounded like when Ron had imitated Parseltongue during the Battle of Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, thought about what he wanted to ask her, and hissed something that alternated between a lisp and a wheezy string of vowels. He attempted to do it softly so that Draco wouldn’t hear him clearly. It had been four years, but Harry assumed that Draco remembered, at least vaguely, the sibilant sound of proper Parseltongue.

The snake continued to look at Harry. He was no expert, but he could have sworn that she was giving him the same scornful look that the snake at the zoo had given Dudley when he shouted at it through the glass.

Harry gave it another go, looking in the python’s eyes and watching her tongue flicker towards him. He realised, with a pang of mild panic, that even if he could passably imitate Parseltongue, he would no longer be able to understand her reply. The snake seemed to have looked her fill at Harry’s face and turned back toward her enclosure.

“What did she say?” Draco demanded. Harry asked him to take the snake back, which Draco did deftly and lowered her into the tank. Then he set the pole against the wall and turned to face Harry, his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry looked past Draco at the tank in which several turtles where basking under a heat lamp.

“The turtles,” Harry said, gesturing toward them. “They’re, er, being too noisy and it’s upsetting her.” He tried to say it with confidence.

Draco let his arms drop to his sides, his expression incredulous.

“The turtles are too loud,” he said flatly with a skeptical glance at the accused reptiles. “Are you certain that’s what she said?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “They’re always… gossiping.”

_ Bloody hell_, he thought, _ in for a Knut… _ What the hell was he doing?

“I suppose I can put a silencing charm around their enclosure,” Draco mused. “Gossiping? Really?”

“She didn’t say what about, just that they’re, er, chatty with each other.”

“Well, all right,” Draco sighed. “We’ll see if it helps. Thank you, Potter.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” Harry replied, shrugging. “Are you going to try to feed her now?”

“No, I need to wait a few hours. It’s better if she doesn’t associate handling with food,” Draco explained. “Not that she could really hurt me, but I’d rather avoid any accidents.”

“Ah, right.” Harry rocked back on his heels again, loath to leave just yet. “Do you have a favourite, of all of these?”

“They’re not my pets, Potter, just a source of income,” Draco said coolly. He looked into the snake’s enclosure, seemed satisfied that she had settled back into one of her little caves, and strode towards the door. Harry drifted after him.

“Thank you, again,” Draco said, holding out his hand when they reached the front door.

Harry shook it and thought ruefully of his rescue fantasy. Of course the real situation would be disappointing in comparison.

“You can owl me if you need me to come back and try again,” Harry offered. “I don’t mind. She’s a nice snake. Great personality.”

Draco smirked at him and opened the door.

“I will. Goodnight, Potter.”

With a nod, Harry made his way down the stairs and back into the late summer twilight. He hoped that Draco would at least say hello to him now. They had a safe subject to discuss, a topic that could _ break the ice_, as Hermione said.

It was only when he had turned into Diagon Alley that Harry realised that he had ended the conversation—perhaps his only opportunity to woo Draco—by complimenting not the object of his affections, but his snake.

_ You really are a complete duffer_, he told himself and, after indulging in a melodramatic groan, continued his walk home.

**Four**

Two days later, Draco’s eagle owl landed on the kitchen windowsill at Grimmauld Place. Its appearance made Harry’s heart leap, but the letter itself carried grim news.

> _ Potter, _
> 
> _ The snake continues to refuse food. The silencing charms around my turtle enclosure seem to be having no effect. I will be home this evening after six o’clock if you would be so kind as to call and speak to my snake again. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ D. L. Malfoy, _
> 
> _ Potions Master, First Class _

Harry scribbled a quick reply at the bottom of the letter confirming that he would visit, and sent Draco’s owl on its way.

Merlin, how did he get himself into this mess? While he was genuinely concerned about the snake, Harry couldn’t help but worry that this charade would wreck his chances with Draco. He had hoped that the snake would decide to eat and no harm would be done. Now Harry’s conscience was jabbing at him to tell Draco the truth while his heart was simultaneously pleading with him not to risk it.

This time, talking to Hermione was not an option.

When Harry had spoken to her after his visit to Draco’s flat, he had told her that Draco needed help with his new snake because he didn’t feel comfortable holding it himself. This was true, if lacking some important (and incriminating) details. Thankfully, Hermione’s mind seemed to be on the revisions for her upcoming bar exam and she accepted Harry’s vague explanation.

Harry didn’t want to endure a more thorough cross-examination, which would be inevitable if he told her the whole story now. Besides, there wasn’t much time until six o’clock and Harry needed to fix himself some dinner, take a shower, tear apart his closet while bemoaning his lack of fashion sense, change his mind several times about which shirt to wear, fuss with his hair and check the time every five minutes to make sure he wasn’t running late. _ Oh, and maybe figure out what I’m going to say to Draco_, Harry told himself sternly.

He got himself to Draco’s flat with about thirty seconds to spare. Harry wondered, as he climbed the stairs, if romance was truly worth all the emotional upheaval and self-doubt. The other parts of his life were wonderful, so why not be satisfied with his friends, a pretty cool job, and an adorable godson?

Then Draco opened the door and any thoughts of embracing the single life vanished from Harry’s mind. Draco was wearing the gray waistcoat with darker pinstripes, the one hugged his chest and waist perfectly and (Harry now realised) set off his pale eyes.

“Hullo,” Harry managed to croak. He cleared his throat and tried again, silently praying that he wasn’t wearing the cornered dog smile. “Here I am!”

Draco just rolled his eyes and led him to the reptile room. There was enough light coming through the window this time that Harry could better see its contents. The shelves held boxes of different kinds of foods, each neatly labeled, and what appeared to be bags of soil and wood chips. There was also a cork board on the wall behind the door that had checklists and charts for feeding and cleaning each enclosure.

While Harry looked around, Draco went to the snake tank and lifted the python on the hook pole. She looked just the same to Harry, but then again he didn’t know much about snakes or what one looked like if it was wasting away.

Harry took the snake from the pole and let her explore his upper body. She seemed to be particularly fond of his shoulders, and once even tickled Harry’s ear with her tongue. She really was a very charming snake, Harry thought, and he could understand their appeal as pets.

He realised that Draco was watching him expectantly and he couldn’t put off the reason for his visit much longer.

“Can I use your loo?” Harry blurted out.

Draco took the snake back and told him it was the first door on the right. Harry hurried out of the room and leaned against the door of the bathroom to berate himself once he was safely inside. Wasn’t he famous for thinking on his feet and getting himself out of trouble? Here he was, hiding in a dark bathroom because he couldn’t face his reptile-breeding, fancy waistcoat-wearing crush. They should really revoke his Order of Merlin.

Harry found the light switch next to the door so that he could splash some water on his face. He grinned when he saw another cross stitch picture above the toilet. This one featured a border of wriggling green snakes around the words “Snake it till you make it!” in the centre. At this rate, Harry was going to have to reevaluate his opinion of Narcissa Malfoy. She either had a whimsical sense of humour or enjoyed taking the piss out of her serious son.

Suddenly worried that he was taking too long and Draco would think that he was snooping, Harry flushed the toilet and returned to the reptile room.

Harry took the snake back from Draco and draped her over his shoulders again. When she lifted her head near Harry’s face to look at him with her shiny eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. _ Please just eat, pretty girl_, he thought fervently as he hissed faux Parseltongue at her. He ran his fingertips gently down her back and continued to “speak” to her intermittently, as if they were having a conversation. Harry truly wished that they were and regretted that he hadn’t considered a pet snake while he was still a Parselmouth, appearances be damned.

“Are you telling each other your life stories, Potter? What is she saying?” Draco demanded impatiently. Instead of answering, Harry stepped closer to him.

“You should really try holding her. She likes it better than the hook, I think.” Harry summoned his Gryffindor courage and stopped an arm’s length from Draco. “Go on, just stroke her back to start with.”

Draco reached out and tentatively slid his fingertips over the snake’s stripes as she slithered in Harry’s arms. To be this close to Draco was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and Harry found it a bit hard to breathe. He wanted to touch Draco’s pale hair in the same careful way that Draco was petting his snake; he wanted to hook his arm around Draco’s waist and pull him closer; he wanted to feel Draco’s breath against his skin.

“So, did you find out what’s bothering her?” Draco murmured. It took Harry a moment to realise that he had asked a question, so mesmerized was he by Draco’s proximity and the drowsy warmth of the room. “Are some of the other animals disturbing her with their rowdy ways? Maybe plotting crimes against snake-kind?”

“She wants…” Harry trailed off, mind unhelpfully blank.

“She wants what?”

“A television.”

Draco jerked his hand away from the snake and scowled at Harry. _ Oh my god_, Harry thought, cringing. _ Why did I say that? _

“She told you she wants a _ television_?” Draco said loudly.

Harry held the snake against his chest as if she could protect him from Draco’s anger.

“Well, she didn’t use the word ‘television’, of course,” Harry stammered. “She just said it was a box with bright pictures that moved and changed. She said her former owner had one near her tank and she liked it.”

Draco was looking between Harry and the snake as if he couldn’t decide which of them was crazier.

“I thought you said she didn’t like noise,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. “You told me she said the turtles were too loud.”

“Oh, maybe he kept the sound turned off,” Harry suggested. “Some people like to just have their telly on in the background while they do other things. Her previous owner was a Muggle, I assume?”

“Yes,” Draco replied slowly. He looked thoughtfully at the snake. “I never considered that a wizarding home might be different for her. You’re sure that’s all she said?”

“Well it took a while to figure out what she was talking about,” Harry explained, shifting the snake in his arms again. “That’s why we were talking for so long.”

Merlin’s sodding beard, he had told himself on the walk over that he was going to come clean to Draco. And here was instead, digging himself a deeper hole and making up ridiculous stories about a snake.

“Well, they do have televisions modified for magical homes now. I admit, I’ve been curious about them.” Draco rubbed his chin, and then shrugged in resignation. “Why not? At this point, I’m willing to try just about anything.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief and let Draco return the snake to her enclosure with his hook.

“So… _ Snake it till you make it_, in other words?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Don’t you start,” Draco growled. “I really wish she would find a new hobby.”

“Are you breeding any of the others right now?” Harry asked, bending down to peer into a tank that had some rocks and branches, but no visible residents.

“Just turtles at the moment,” Draco replied. He lifted the lid off one of the wooden boxes to show Harry a half dozen eggs, their tops barely peeking out of the damp material in which they were buried. Draco took out his wand and cast charms to check the temperature and humidity before replacing the lid. “They’re not due to hatch for a month yet, though.”

“I bet they’re cute. The baby turtles.”

“They’re really just smaller versions of the adults. They can fend for themselves right out of the egg, you know.” Draco replied.

Once again, he led Harry to his front door and shook his hand with a nod of thanks.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Harry ventured. “I bring Teddy to Diagon sometimes on Saturdays.”

“I’m sure he enjoys that,” Draco replied stiffly. He was clearly waiting for Harry to leave.

“All right, see you.” Harry turned and walked down the stairs feeling a bit dejected. Why hadn’t he ever learned to flirt, or at least carry on a proper conversation with someone he fancied?

Maybe it was time to look for a new fish in the barrel. Maybe Draco would never be interested in him and Harry needed to accept that. But even as he considered it, Harry found that the memory of Draco’s sharp gaze and his long fingers wrapped around the snake hook would make it very, very difficult to give up.

And if Harry knew anything about himself, it was that he was right stubborn bastard who didn’t give up easily.

**Five**

When Harry stepped out of the Floo on Friday night, Hermione was waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest and a glare that stopped Harry in his tracks.

“Ron,” he called toward the kitchen, “What did I do?”

“You’re on your own this time, mate,” Ron replied. “I’m going to stay safely in the kitchen and make gravy for this roast. Good luck and I promise to give you a proper burial.”

Jesus, what had he done? Hermione was still staring him down as if she had been taking lessons from a Basilisk. Harry shuffled sideways and eased himself into the battered armchair whose sickly green colour Ron had dubbed “Potions cock-up.”

“All right, let me have it, Hermione.”

“I heard from Neville, who heard from Dean, who heard from Blaise Zabini that you are ‘helping’ Draco by speaking Parseltongue to his sick snake! That is incredibly unethical and deceptive, Harry!”

Hermione said this with such conviction that Harry almost expected a judge to materialize and declare him guilty as charged. Merlin, she was going to be a terror in the courtroom.

Harry squirmed in his seat, weighing his options. It was too late for a convincing denial; Hermione knew him too well. He could only hope for a divine intervention, possibly in the form of Crookshanks attacking the roast or the floor collapsing beneath him. After waiting several moments in vain while Hermione tapped her foot, Harry launched a desperate attempt at a defence.

“It’s not doing any harm, Hermione. The snake isn’t sick, honestly, and she’s bound to get hungry enough to eat eventually.” 

Hermione seemed unimpressed with this explanation. She didn’t even need to speak for Harry interpret her thoughts as, _ so you think it’s fine to lie to him? _

“I promise to tell him the truth as soon as the snake has a meal, all right? He’s really worried about her right now and at least he can…”

Harry stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if Hermione knew about the turtles and the television, and he was not going to expose himself to more of her wrath by confessing the lengths he had gone to in order to “help” Draco.

Hermione had uncrossed her arms, which Harry took to mean that she was at least listening. Maybe he could appeal to her sympathies.

“I just don’t want to miss this opportunity to talk to him,” Harry pleaded. “You know how long I’ve waited. Right, Ron? I’ve been talking about him for ages, yeah?”

“La, la, la! Cauldron full of hot, strong curse breakin’ man!” Ron sang loudly. “I am not participating in this conversation. La, la, la!”

Harry pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and tried to school his expression into something wistful and lovelorn. Finally, Hermione sat down on the sofa with a resigned sigh.

“Fine. But don’t expect any sympathy from me when this blows up in your face,” she said.

“Okay,” Harry agreed meekly. “It’s safe to come out now, Ron. I’ve been duly raked over the coals and have repented for my evil ways.”

Ron emerged from the kitchen, carving knife in hand, to give Hermione a questioning look. She confirmed Harry’s statement with a nod and rose from the sofa.

“Excellent. And perfect timing, too. Let’s go eat before that cat gets any ideas about my roast," Ron said, scowling at Crookshanks, who was draped across the back of the sofa with his tail twitching. "I can tell you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Crookshanks responded with his usual unblinking stare, as if he were a suspect who was utterly unfazed by Ron’s attempts at interrogation.

“I’ll smuggle you out some meat after dinner,” Harry whispered to the cat as he walked toward the mouth-watering smells in the kitchen. He had managed to placate Hermione and was more than happy to share his good fortune.

Even if Crookshanks was likely guilty as charged.

**Six**

_ Here we go again_, Harry thought, turning into Practic Alley on Sunday morning. The street was almost empty at this hour except for a few early risers trying to beat the crowds in Diagon Alley. Harry might have enjoyed the morning sunshine and the delicious aromas coming from the coffee shops and bakeries if he weren’t so nervous. Draco’s letter had requested that he visit again, but didn’t tell Harry the reason. He hoped it was good news.

Harry took the stairs two at a time and rapped on Draco’s door, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. Draco opened the door, then froze at the sight of Harry. His eyes had drifted down to Harry’s tee shirt.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Draco asked.

“Oh, I saw this when I was shopping yesterday and I thought it was funny. You know, brown and tan stripes and a black head,” Harry explained, tousling his own hair. “Just like her!”

Draco just stared at him for a few moments before turning back into the flat while muttering something that sounded like, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

_ You’re what’s wrong with me_, Harry thought sullenly, following Draco inside.

Despite his disappointment that his joke had fallen flat, he couldn’t help adding _ no waistcoat on Sundays _ to his mental catalogue of Draco facts.

“So, has she eaten?” Harry asked as they walked down the hallway.

“No,” Draco replied tersely. “There’s no change in her behaviour at all, despite having a television in the room.”

Harry’s heart sank. Why wouldn’t she just eat?

A small television sat on a table in the corner of the reptile room with the volume turned off. The snake, however, was nowhere to be seen. Harry assumed she was hiding in one of her caves.

“As you can see, my snake has no interest in the television. The geckos, however, are riveted by it, in particular the colourful creatures called ‘Teletubbies’.” Draco gestured towards a row of small glass tanks.

Sure enough, Harry saw several spotted lizards sitting with their noses pressed against the glass and their dark eyes fixed on the television screen.

“Teddy used to love that show when he was little,” Harry laughed. “I always thought it was very strange. What are they supposed to be anyways? Aliens?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. The point, Potter, is that my black-headed python is still refusing food. I didn’t purchase that television to entertain my geckos, _who are_ _supposed to be nocturnal_, by the way. I now have two problems instead of one.”

Harry’s smile faltered as he registered Draco’s exasperation. He certainly hadn’t meant to make things worse.

“May I hold the snake again?” Harry asked meekly.

He silently repeated his vow, made after his dressing down by Hermione, not to pretend to use Parseltongue again. His only hope now was that he could comfort the snake or give her the attention she craved.

“I suppose so,” Draco said. Harry followed him over to the large tank and watched as Draco gently brushed the side of the hook against her back before lifting her out.

“Why do you do that with the hook?” Harry asked.

“It lets her know that I’m going to pick her up, so she’s not startled.”

Draco passed the snake to Harry. She was almost eager to be held, it seemed. Once she was settled across Harry’s shoulders, however, she was more sluggish than the previous times that he had handled her. Harry stroked her back right behind her head and murmured—in English―gentle words of encouragement. If Draco wondered why Harry wasn’t speaking Parseltongue, he didn’t ask.

“Could we sit down somewhere?” Harry asked, shrugging as a coil of snake slipped off his shoulder. “I think she’d like to be held for a bit longer.”

“Fine,” Draco growled. He led Harry to the sitting room and gestured for him to sit on a sofa with carved wooden legs and peacock blue upholstery. Harry sank down gratefully, careful to keep the snake close to his body.

He took the opportunity to look around (_Draco’s own sitting room_, Harry’s heart crowed!) and understood why it had appeared so crowded when he had glimpsed it before. The room apparently served as both Draco’s sitting room and his bedroom. A double bed was wedged into a corner with a low bureau against the foot board. A wardrobe was flanked by overflowing bookcases and a tidy writing desk sat under the windows, which faced the street. There was barely enough room to walk between the pieces of furniture.

Draco looked uncomfortable with Harry’s scrutiny of his private space.

“The reptile breeding room used to be my bedroom,” he explained, “and the other room is where I brew.”

“Wouldn’t it be better—er, safer—to have a Potions lab somewhere else?” Harry asked. He wondered if Draco’s landlord knew that Draco was running two businesses out of his flat.

“Ideally, yes. But if you recall, I already told you about my financial… challenges. I hope one day to have a proper lab, once I establish myself as a Potions Master and business picks up. And there’s no danger to me or anyone else with proper ventilation and safety procedures. I’m hardly likely to cause an explosion like a bumbling first-year student,” Draco said, frowning as if Harry had insulted him.

“Right, of course not,” Harry said quickly. 

He looked away from Draco and noticed an embroidered pillow next to him. More of Mrs Malfoy’s handiwork, from the looks of it.

“‘You’re one in a chameleon!’” Harry read aloud, with a sly look at Draco. A cheeky little lizard with protruding eyes and its mouth hanging open was stitched in colourful thread below the words. Harry wondered how many more inspirational reptile puns were scattered around Draco’s flat.

“The fact that I don’t even have any chameleons didn’t stop her, unfortunately. She’s a menace.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Harry replied.

He couldn’t help feeling a little triumphant that he was privy to this small piece of Draco’s life, even one that Draco found irritating. Hermione was right; this was much better than the random bits of information that Harry had collected about Draco from afar. He felt the same way he did when he had a promising lead on a case, as if he were finally getting somewhere.

“I’m thinking about returning the snake to her former owner,” Draco said suddenly.

“What?” Harry cried, startled out of his reverie. He looked down at the snake, who had settled herself into a messy coil on his thighs. She seemed content to enjoy his warmth and gentle caresses.

“I can’t get her to eat, despite caring for her as best as I can. She doesn’t seem inclined or able to tell you what’s really bothering her. She may simply be unhappy here.” Draco slid down a few inches in his armchair and let his head fall against the back with a heavy sigh.

“Don’t give up yet! She must be really hungry by now, so she’s even more likely to eat, right?” Harry pleaded. He hated the thought of Draco surrendering the charming snake to anyone else.

“I’ll give it a few more days. Snakes can go many weeks without food, but I hate to think that she’s suffering needlessly because of my inexperience.”

Harry felt miserable. The poor animal in his lap needed something, but Harry couldn’t speak to her to find out what was wrong. Draco was going to have to give up on what he hoped would be a profitable new venture. And Harry might not have the chance to get to know Draco now. He would have to be satisfied with glimpses of Draco in Diagon and bits of news heard third or fourth hand from friends.

“Is that why you owled me this morning? To let me know?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I thought I should tell you in person, since you took the time to try to help her.” Draco tilted his head to look at Harry. “I also wanted to thank you. I realise that I’ve been… rather short with you, but it’s only because I’ve been so concerned about her.” He looked sadly at the snake in Harry’s lap.

“I’m sure you did the absolute best you could for her,” Harry assured him. He gave the snake a few more strokes along her back before asking if they should return her to her enclosure.

He and Draco made their way to the reptile room without speaking. Harry lifted the snake onto the hook and Draco lowered her into her tank. She immediately slithered into one of her hide boxes. Harry’s throat tightened as he whispered goodbye.

They shook hands at the front door, as usual, and Draco solemnly expressed his gratitude for Harry’s assistance one more time.

“It was no trouble, honestly,” Harry replied. “Hey, maybe you could meet me and Teddy for ice cream sometime. I’m sure he’d like that. Andromeda says he enjoys your visits.”

“Perhaps,” Draco said after a few beats, “as long as you don’t wear that shirt. It’s truly hideous and the colours don’t suit you at all.”

Harry exhaled the breath that had caught in his chest while he was waiting for Draco’s reply.

“Great! That’s really great. So I guess I’ll be in touch, yeah? Or you can firecall me if you want,” Harry added boldly. “My address is Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

As they said goodbye, Harry tried to tamp down the wide grin on his face. Maybe this was to be a beginning rather than an ending, after all.

**Seven**

“POTTER!”

Harry was walking down the stairs when he heard what was unmistakably Draco’s voice in the Floo. Only by grabbing the handrail did he avoid tumbling all the way down to his foyer, which would have been clearly visible from the fireplace in the parlour.

Thankfully spared from bruises and humiliation, Harry rushed to kneel in front of the Floo. He immediately regretted it. Even distorted by the green flames, the cold fury on Draco’s face was obvious.

“Hi, Draco. Is everything okay? How is your snake?” Harry did his best to sound normal, even cheerful, despite his sense that something was very wrong.

“Luna came over to see her this afternoon. She thought she might be able to determine why the snake is refusing food, even though she specializes in magical animals,” Draco explained, every word enunciated sharply. “It turns out that she had a fractured jawbone. I had forgotten that she slipped off the hook and hit the edge of her enclosure last month. There wasn’t any swelling and she didn’t show any distress at the time, so I thought she was fine.”

_ Oh, no._

Harry felt his limbs grow cold. The entire time that he had been faffing about with fake Parseltongue, Draco’s snake had been injured—and possibly in pain. Not unhappy. Not sick or just temperamental. _Injured_.

“I’m glad that Luna found the problem. Was she able to fix it?” Harry asked, his voice small.

“Yes, a quick _ Episkey _ and a few drops of Skele-Gro took care of it. She just ate her usual meal, quite enthusiastically, and I expect no further problems.”

Draco paused dramatically. Something even worse was coming, something that accounted for Draco’s anger.

“The most enlightening part of Luna’s visit, however, was when she told me that you’re no longer a Parselmouth.”

Harry swayed in front of the Floo. _Oh, Merlin._ _Here it is_, he thought, the catastrophe that Hermione had warned him about. To be fair, his own conscience had also warned him from the beginning; Harry had just chosen to ignore it.

“So, would you like to tell me what that nonsense about the turtles was about? And the television? I can’t believe I fell for that! Snakes are not known for their sharp hearing or eyesight, are they? Did you even care about my snake at all?”

Harry resisted the urge to shrink away from the Floo connection. He needed to explain, he needed to—

“You know what? Don’t even bother,” Draco continued. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the flickering flames, but it looked like he was shaking. “It’s obvious that you thought it would be amusing to have a little joke at my expense and humiliate me. I’m sure you’ve been having a good laugh about how gullible I was, about the ridiculous things you could get me to do!”

“No, no, no! Draco, I wouldn’t do that!” Harry reached into the Floo, his heart wrenched by the way Draco’s voice broke a little. “I was really trying to help!”

“What, by pretending to talk to my snake and then inventing reasons why she was refusing to eat? How could that possibly be construed as _ helping _ an animal that was hurt? No, Potter. You are a fucking liar and a bastard, and I regret ever owling you. I certainly won’t make that mistake again!”

The Floo connection slammed closed on Harry’s head, making his ears ring and coating his hair with soot. He leaned back onto his elbows, coughing some ash out of his lungs. After a few shaky breaths, he used his wand to clean off his head and sprawled on the parlour rug.

“Oh, god,” Harry moaned at the ceiling. “Oh, Merlin, I really fucked up.”

He had left Draco’s flat on Sunday buoyant with optimism. He had stopped at the bakery for breakfast on his way home and had imagined bringing Draco a pain au chocolat or currant scone to have with his morning cup of Earl Grey. Harry might never get the chance to do something like that now, some little act that would make Draco smile. All because he had been so eager to help Draco himself, never once considering that someone else, like Luna, would be a better choice.

Harry stewed in his misery until the woolen rug started to make his bare forearms itch and his back began to complain. There had to be a way to fix this. He went to the kitchen to make a mug of tea and a plan.

Going to Draco’s flat would likely result in a hex to the face. Just the memory of Draco’s furious expression made Harry feel ill. He wasn’t sure he could face it again, just yet.

Sending an owl might be a better way to explain his actions, but there was no guarantee that Draco would read it once he realised who it was from. He could tear it up or throw it in his fireplace. Harry imagined Draco wading through his crowded sitting room to slam his window closed in order to block any more deliveries.

Speaking to Draco if they ran into each other in Diagon was out of the question. Harry would prefer to explain his actions privately, even if he could manage to do so in a dignified way instead of throwing himself at Draco’s feet, as he felt the urge to do.

Harry slumped over his kitchen table, out of ideas and feeling his resolve slip away.

He needed advice. Calm advice… from someone who wasn’t going to lecture him or make light of his predicament. Only one person came to mind and Harry prayed she was home. He abandoned his tea and returned to the parlour fireplace.

“Luna, are you there?” Harry called. Thankfully, she was.

“Hello, Harry. Would you like to come through?” Luna asked serenely. She didn’t seem surprised to see Harry in her Floo. She probably wasn’t. Harry had long ago ceased to be startled by Luna’s intuition.

Harry scooped more Floo Powder from the dish on his mantle and called out her address. When he stepped out of the fireplace, Luna was already curled up in one of a pair of armchairs. Harry took the other one and rubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans. Luna waited for him to speak.

“I really cocked things up with Draco,” he choked out, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. “I thought I was trying to help his snake as best as I could, but I see now that I really wasn’t. She could have been healed much sooner if I had told Draco to bring her to you in the first place. He thinks I was playing a prank on him or trying to embarrass him. And now he never wants to speak to me again and I need to find a way to apologize to him but he probably won’t listen.”

After releasing this flood of words, Harry looked imploringly at Luna. She acknowledged Harry’s dilemma with a soft hum, but didn’t hurry to console him or make any suggestions; she would speak when she was ready. Harry willed his shoulders to relax and let his gaze wander around the room while he waited.

Her flat was even smaller than Ron and Hermione’s. It was in the attic of a tall, narrow building in Diagon that housed a florist on the ground floor. Dormer windows of various shapes and sizes jutted out from the sloping ceiling and there was a sleeping loft tucked under the peak of the roof. What should be a dim and claustrophobic space was transformed by Luna’s bright and riotous decor. Harry could believe that every colour imaginable was represented somewhere in the flat.

A thought occurred to Harry as he looked at the vine of a houseplant that had grown long enough to start twisting across the floor.

“Wait, how did you know that I can’t speak Parseltongue anymore?” he asked Luna.

“Ron told me, at a party last year. I was describing the similarities between Basilisks and Antipodean Sea Serpents to him, and I wondered if you would be able to speak with the latter. They are such mysterious creatures, imagine what we could learn about them if only there were a way to communicate.”

Harry pictured the scene as Teddy would render it in one of his crayon drawings. It would show Harry with Bubble-Head Charm, desperately hissing questions at some enormous, snake-like thing with jagged teeth and angry eyebrows. He would likely get eaten before he even managed to introduce himself. They would have to amend his Chocolate Frog card to read, _ Consumed by an Antipodean Sea Serpent while furthering the study of Magical Creatures. What an idiot. _

“You should give Draco a day or two to calm down and then try apologizing to him in person,” Luna suggested.

She broke the silence so abruptly that it took a full five seconds for Harry to register her advice.

“Really? Do you think he’ll forgive me?” he asked as Luna uncurled her legs and stood. He wasn’t sure if that was his cue to leave or if she was just getting up to do something. Whatever he had learnt about body language in his law enforcement training was useless for reading Luna.

“He might. But you’ll have to tell him the truth.”

“The truth?”

“The _ entire _ truth,” Luna confirmed, and walked out her front door without another word.

**Eight**

“I've come to apologize. Please! Don’t close the door, I just want to explain!” Harry said, as quickly as he could, when Draco answered his knock.

Draco didn’t close the door. He studied Harry silently, as if he were trying to measure Harry’s sincerity. Harry waited, stomach churning, for Draco to decide whether to admit him. It had taken him three days to work up the nerve to come. Three days to decide what to say and to find the item in the small gift bag dangling from his fingertips.

“All right,” Draco said, at the end of what felt to Harry like several of Nicholas Flamel’s life spans. “I can give you five minutes, but I _ will _ tell you to leave immediately if I think you’re lying again.”

Harry followed him into the sitting room. Pale green waistcoat with the subtle pattern of white peacock feathers on the front, Harry’s favourite. _ Here goes nothing_, he thought, facing Draco in the centre of the crowded room.

“I wasn’t playing a joke on you, I swear. I just kind of panicked when you asked me to speak Parseltongue because I really did want to help,” Harry explained. “I didn’t think it would do any harm to try, and when you asked me what she said, I blurted out the stuff about the turtles and her wanting a telly. I would never have done it if I’d known she was hurt.”

“You panicked,” Draco said flatly. “I hope this isn’t any indication of your abilities as a constable, Potter. What do you do when you get cornered by criminals, tell them their owls at home need slippers?”

“No, I don’t panic in situations like that! It’s just that I really wanted… I hoped that…” Harry floundered. Merlin, this was even harder than he thought it was going to be.

“What, Potter? You hoped that, what?”

“That your snake would just eat on her own eventually, and then I was going to tell you that I hadn’t actually spoken to her. Honestly, I was going to tell you,” Harry insisted when Draco raised his eyebrows. “I just didn’t want to miss my chance to talk to you.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” Draco asked.

“I’ve been trying for months, you know, but you kept giving me the cold shoulder. And then you owled me and I thought that my chance had finally come. I wanted to help your snake, too, I swear. Anyways, I apologize again for deceiving you. I truly didn’t mean to embarrass you in any way.”

“Okay, I think I believe you,” Draco said, still looking a bit confused. “But can we go back to the part about you waiting for the chance to talk to me? When you approached me in Diagon, I always assumed that you were checking up on me, as a Magical Law Enforcement officer.”

“No, no, no! It wasn’t like that at all,” Harry assured him.

_ The entire truth_, Luna had suggested. He felt the blood rising to his face and couldn’t find the words to continue. Instead, he held out the gift bag.

“What’s this, a peace offering?” Draco asked, taking the bag. He reached into the layers of tissue paper and pulled out a mug with a picture of a lizard on it.

Harry held his breath.

“‘Iguana kiss you’,” Draco read. “I don’t get it.”

Before he could stop and consider, before his courage failed him, Harry stepped forward. He wrapped a hand around the back of Draco’s neck, undeterred by his startled expression. Then, for five thundering heartbeats, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s. He heard the empty gift bag fall to the floor.

“I-gwanna kiss you,” Harry explained softly, pulling back far enough to look at Draco.

“That’s not how you pronounce ‘iguana’,” Draco said in a hoarse voice, staring wide-eyed at Harry.

“It’s a pun, you prat,” Harry smiled. Draco wasn’t moving away, so Harry took the opportunity to slide his hand an inch up his neck to where the silky blond hair began. Draco was due for a haircut soon, Harry remembered. “I thought you were familiar with reptile puns.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Draco answered breathlessly. He seemed to give himself a little shake before speaking again. “Wait, all those times you approached me, you actually wanted to…”

“Talk to you, yeah,” Harry finished for him. “Maybe ask if you wanted to get some tea with me. Or coffee. Whichever you, er, prefer.”

“Tea,” Draco answered, brushing his fingertips over Harry’s waist. “There’s a nice bakery down the street. We could go right now, if you like.”

Harry didn’t really want to go anywhere at that moment. He would be content to stand here forever, feeling the warmth of Draco’s skin under his palm and smelling his cologne. It was better than any daydream, to have Draco so close and willing.

“All right,” Harry answered, reluctantly stepping away. “Wait, can I see the snake first?”

Draco laughed. “You really do like her, don’t you? This isn’t some ploy to befriend my snake, is it?” he teased, holding up the mug with a smile.

“Definitely not. But I do like her. I’m sorry I didn’t think of sending you to Luna to figure out the problem. You aren’t going to give her back, are you?”

“I’m not sure yet. This past month has been rather stressful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly comfortable caring for a snake.” Draco set the mug on his desk with a sigh. “I knew this before I acquired her, of course, but I had hoped that it wouldn’t be an obstacle to breeding them.”

“If you decide not to keep her, would you consider selling her to me?” Harry asked eagerly. “I’d buy her enclosure and everything, too.” 

“She does seem to enjoy your company,” Draco mused, “and she would certainly get more attention than she gets now. Do you think you would like owning a snake?”

“Well, I had never considered it before I was completely charmed by yours. I work pretty long hours, so a dog is out of the question and I don’t care for cats, except for Hermione’s. But a snake would be manageable, I think.”

“All right, I’ll think about it,” Draco said, stepping past Harry toward the hall. “You aren’t going to keep hissing at her, I hope?”

“Oh, no,” Harry laughed ruefully. “She was not impressed by my efforts.”

“How do you know that, if you can’t understand her?”

“I’ll have to tell you the story of when I spoke to a snake at the zoo when I was ten years old,” Harry said, catching up with Draco in the sitting room doorway. “It’s hiss-terical.”

Draco groaned, but he let Harry lace their fingers together as they walked toward the reptile room.

_ Fin _

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a snake owner (but I think they’re really cool!). All the details in this story about snake handling and husbandry are from the Interwebs and the live animal presentations at my local science museum. My apologies to the snek owners reading this if I got anything wrong!
> 
> Here’s a [one-minute video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDKaWrEwwTQ) about wild black-headed pythons, if anyone wants to see one of these beauties in their native habitat.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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